Secret Window, Secret Garden
by Phoenix Bradley
Summary: Harry's wife had cheated on him, and now he's left alone to deal with it and himself. Bad things happen when you're alone for too long. Story of Secret Window. PG-13 for language and violence. COMPLETE!
1. Turn Around

Secret Window, Secret Garden

by, Smeagol's girl

(Another one of my crossovers. The story of Secret Window by Stephen King with Harry Potter. Mostly based off the movie since I haven't finished the book. This is a psychological thriller, so if you don't pay attention, you may not get it. I own nothing. Rated PG-13 for language, violence, and some sexuality. Still trying to think of a sequel to Like Father Like Daughter, and I'm open to suggestions.)

I'm not the one who's so far away

When I feel the snake bite into my face

Never did I want to be here again

And I don't remember why I came

Candles raised by the moonlight

Why I'm so far away

No more meaning to my life

No more reason to stay

Freezing feeling

Breathe in, Breathe in

I'm coming back again

I'm not the one who's so far away

When I feel the snake bite into my face

Never did I want to be here again

And I don't remember why I came

Hazing clouds rain on my head

Empty thoughts fill my mind

Find my shade by the moonlight

Why my thoughts aren't so clear

Demons, dreaming

Breathe in, Breathe in

I'm coming back again

I'm not the one who's so far away

When I feel the snake bite into my face

Never did I want to be here again

And I don't remember why I came

Voodoo, Voodoo

Voodoo, Voodoo...

- "Voodoo", Godsmack

"Just turn back. Don't go there. Turn around and walk away."

Harry sat in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel as the anger and fear intensified in his veins. Gritting his teeth, he spun the wheel around and turned the car around in the parking lot, rain splattering madly on the windshield. The headlights shined on the exit to the parking lot and he sat there, debating whether or not to follow that light and pretend nothing had happened. Just go home, slump in his recliner, and go back to his miserable life.

No, he thought to himself. This was ending now. All he had to do was barge in there and it'd be over. With white knuckles, he turned the car around again and headed for the door to the motel lobby, parking only a few feet away from it. He climbed out and trudged to the door, walking strait in and around the counter, ignoring the fact that the check-in man was watching from the faculty lounge. His eyes scanned around till he found the right key and grabbed it quickly, turning and running to his car while the man yelled at him. He drove to the motel room door, inching as close as he could get, and then, not thinking twice about it, plunged the key into the lock and opened the door in one swift motion.

He flipped the lights on, and two figures sat strait up in the bed, one of them having pull her blanket back up to cover her bare chest. The long black hair was unmistakable, and the brown eyes opened in shock assured him that it was Cho. The love of his life, the one girl he had given everything to. His wife.

The man next to her made a face at Harry and started shouting at him to get the hell out. Harry was unable to tear his eyes away from the sight for the longest time as the pain rushed to his head. He had known for almost a month now that his wife had been keeping something from him, but this was not the way he wanted to find out. Eyes filling with tears, he shrieked, "NO!" in the man's face and forced himself to walk away, hand squeezing his forehead, blocking out every word the man was shouting at him.


	2. Plagerism

(6 months later...)

There came a knock at the door around noon, waking Harry from his sleep. He now lived alone up in the mountains in a log cabin. His eyes slitted open and he waited for a moment, wondering if it had only been a dream. There was nothing, and he rolled over again, closing his eyes and trying to sleep.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Harry opened his eyes again. Whoever was out there was in a hurry to see him, and he slowly got to his feet, cursing under his breath. This had better not be another crazy fan, trying to hunt him down. When the door opened, the man standing there didn't look like a fan at all. In fact the man looked ready to take his head clean off his shoulders. He was a tall, stalky type, dark eyes glaring at him menacingly, and a hat that looked similar to the one the Quaker Oatmeal man wore.

"You stole my story," said the man with a southern twang. Harry squinted his eyes and stared at him in confusion. He was not fully awake yet, and this was a sudden and heavy accusation. A simple, "Hi. How are you?" would've been nicer.

"I'm... sorry...?" he muttered, looking at him groggily. "Do I...? I don't believe I know you." The Quaker man sneered.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that I know you Mr. Potter. I know who you are and you stole my story. " He held out a bundle of papers in front of him, handing them to Harry. Harry merely glanced at them and back at the man.

"You must've made a mistake, sir. I don't read manuscripts."

"You read this one and then you stole it from me," said the man. "What I'd like to know is how you did it? How the hell did a big money maker like you come down to a little shit-splat land in Mississippi and steal my story?" Harry made a face.

"Mississippi?"

"It's in the US you stupid plagiarist."

"I know where it is," he spat, rubbing his eyes. "Listen, you can talk to my literary agent if you're accusing me of plagiarism..."

"This is between you and me," growled the man. "There's no need to get anyone else involved. It's just between you and me." He tried to hand him the manuscript again, but Harry stepped back.

"Goodday, sir," he said, starting to shut the door.

"This isn't settled," said the man, giving him a dangerous look.

"As far as I'm concerned it already is. Goodday." With that he closed the door and slid to the side so the man wouldn't spy on him through the window. He waited for a moment, jumping when his dog, Chico, snuck up on him and started licking his hand. There was a small thump on the ground outside, and soon footsteps walking away. Harry walked to the kitchen, watching as the man climbed into his rundown car and drove off. The license plate read: CTO 270, and he quickly jotted it down incase he ever needed it.

"I didn't steal his story, Chico," he muttered as he made his way to the couch where his pillows were and the blanket he only used in the winter. "I don't think I did," he muttered, right before drifting back to sleep.

Downstairs, a vacume was running, and the maid, Wendy, hummed to herself as she cleaned. Harry sat in front of his laptop, reading the mediocre paragraph he had spent the last hour writing. After the defeat of Voldemort, he had taken to writing stories to get his feelings out. Cho had been his support the entire time when he started. And since he was the great Harry Potter, everyone was in line for every book to be released. It was only the muggles that he listened to when the reviews poured in. They didn't have a clue as to who he really was and he wanted to keep it that way. He sighed and looked at what he had written.

_After the weeks went by, Chad had come to the conclusion that his wife had been cheating on him. He also came to the conclusion that the only way to solve it was to get her out of his life forever._

Harry sighed again and tried reading it outloud to himself, just to see how it sounded. "After the weeks went by, Tom had come to the conclusion that... that this is just bad writing." Shaking his head he sat back and glanced at Chico who was sitting on the ottoman, watching him with interest. "I'm open to suggestions," he said to the dog. Chico only whined and looked away. Harry glanced over the banister, to the downstairs and saw Wendy with her vacume. He looked back at Chico. "If you don't bite her I'll kill her," he said. He was in a less than friendly mood after the surprise visit from the Quaker man the day before. There never was a reason why he hated his maid, when he stopped to think about it. He just couldn't wait to have her gone for the day.

His eyes strayed back at the screen at the bad writing. You know what to do, he thought to himself. So do it. No bad writing. Smirking, he highlighted the paragraph and deleted it. "Guess that solves that," he muttered to himself.

Standing to his feet, he headed to the kitchen and took out a Mt. Dew from the fridge. When he turned to the table there was a manuscript sitting on it.

"What the?" he muttered, stepping up to get a better look.

Sewing Season

by, John Shooter

"Oh," came Wendy's voice. "I found one of your stories laying on the front porch and thought you might want it."

"It's not mine," muttered Harry. It must've been Quaker's. He decided to see what the fuss was about for the heck of it, and lifted the first page, reading what it said:

"A woman who could steal your love away from you when your love was all you had, wasn't much of a woman in Todd's mind. He then decided to kill her. He would bury her in the garden, over looked by a secret window. He would bury her in her favorite garden. A secret garden. The garden she loved more than she loved him..."

"Oh, shit!" muttered Harry, recognizing the words almost immediately. He reached to pick it up, completely forgetting about the can of Mt. Dew in his hand and it spilled all over the table. "Oh, shit!" he said again, moving to find a paper towel. Wendy looked in to see what had happened.

"Oh thank goodness it's no emergency," she said anxiously, moving in front of him to grab a wash cloth. "It sounded like something bad was happening in here to you."

"That's very kind of you, Wendy," he said, pointing his hand in the shape a gun at her when her back was turned. She walked to the mess and started to clean it up. He picked up the manuscript before she could read it. "I didn't write this," he said, pointing to it.

"Oh," she said, seeming a little surprised. "I thought you did."

"No. This said John Shooter. That's not me."

"Well, I thought it was one of those... oh what do you call them...? Pen names! That's it."

"No. Never used one. Never have." She nodded and continued to clean the mess. "What I'm trying to tell you is I never wrote this."

"Okay, Mr. Potter." She stood up to fetch some paper towels, and he realized how stupid he was being about the manuscript. Carrying it with him, he headed up the stairs to his desk and set it down, and turned to the bookshelf, looking for the book with his story, the one Shooter was claiming he stole. Briefly his eyes passed the words, "Everybody Drops the Dime," and grabbed it off the shelf. Opening it, he read the contents till he found the right story. Secret Window, Secret Garden. He flipped to the right page and started reading, surprised how much it was alike to Sewing Season:

"A woman who would steal away your love when your love was all you had, wasn't much of a woman in Frank's mind. He then decided to kill her. Her death would be in secret, and he'd bury her in the garden she loved. He'd bury her in a secret garden, over looked by a secret window. The garden she loved more than she loved him..."

Harry blinked a few times, becoming nervous. Why were the stories so much alike? He knew he hadn't stolen it, and even Cho could prove it. She was there when he had been inspired for it. It was when they had bought the cabin as a summer home and discovered the previous owner had left ugly looking furniture for them.

"Let's get this stuff out of here," he remembered Cho saying. "It's no wonder they left this junk here. It's so ugly!" She started to push a dresser out of the way when she uncovered a window. "Oh look!" she gasped. "It's a window. A secret window." She looked through it and down at the ground below her. "That's where I'll plant my garden. We'll have our own secret window, looking down on a secret garden..."

That had been a long time ago. Back when he actually liked talking to Cho. Lately, he spent any phone conversation with her, just waiting for her to hang up.

"I didn't steal that story," he muttered, turning to Chico. Reaching in his desk, he pulled out an old pack of cigarettes he had gradually been smoking over the last few months. He saved them for moments like this when he was under stress. There were footsteps on the stairs, and he quickly held the cigarette under his desk so Wendy wouldn't see.

"I've finished Mr. Potter," she said with a smile.

"Really?" he asked. "Well that was fast. Okay. See you next week then." She nodded but gave him a serious look.

"Mr. Potter, there's something I have to say. Some women don't know a good thing when they've got it. They have the whole world at their feet and they don't realize it." Harry smirked, not meaning it though.

"That's very kind of you, Wendy," he said, eager to get her out of there.

"There," she said softly. "I said it. Not another word from me. Good-bye."

"See ya," he said, waiting till she was heading down the stairs to smile. He raised the cigarette to his lips when he heard her come up again and quickly hid it under the desk.

"Mr. Potter, can I make you something to eat?" she asked kindly.

"No thanks, I already ate," he said with a smirk. "I mean, I ate before, but I'll eat again later and I'll make it myself." She smiled and nodded.

"You're a good man Mr. Potter."

"You too, Wendy," he said, smirking when he realized she hadn't caught that. When she finally left, he slipped downstairs, grumbling under his breath as he smoked. "Stupid hag," he muttered. "When will she learn to leave me the hell alone?" You hired her, his mind retorted. "She moved around my pillows," he growled as he walked to the sofa, stamping out his cigarette on the coffee table. He tossed two pillows onto the floor and flopped down, taking off his watch and placing it on the table.

"Now," he muttered. "Where was I?" and with that he drifted off.


	3. Why did you call me?

Riiiiiiing! Riiiiiiing! Riiiiiiing!

Harry groaned and opened his eyes. The phone was ringing and he was in the middle of a perfect nap. Yawning and using the last of his energy, he sat up and felt around on the coffee table, soon remembering the maid had been there, meaning she probably had moved it back to the kitchen counter where it belonged. Growling and cursing under his breath, he trudged to the kitchen and answered the phone. "Hello?" he yawned.

"Hello, Harry." It was a woman.

Harry closed his eyes. This was the last person he wanted to hear from, aside from John Shooter. "Cho?" he groaned.

"How are you?" she asked. "You don't sound too good." Harry picked up the phone and receiver, carrying them both to his sofa and setting the receiver down on the coffee table.

"I'm fine," he said, flopping down on the sofa.

"How's my little puppy, Chico?" She was talking in a googoo voice, and he rolled his eyes. Did she really have the nerve to call him like this, like they were still friends if that? After what she had done to him?

"Cho," he growled, cutting her off. "Why did you call? Did you have a reason?" There was a sigh on the other end.

"I had one of my feelings," she said softly. "I know you think their stupid and you don't believe them, but I believe them..." He rolled his eyes. The feeling lecture. This was the one hundredth time he had heard it, and he hated it even when they were still together. He held the phone out in front of him with both hands and shook his, gritting his teeth, and then quickly put it back to his ear. "...so I just wanted to call and make sure you're okay."

"Well," he said, sighing and rolling onto his side. "I don't know what to tell you other than I'm fine."

"Nothing weird happen or anything?" He paused for a moment.

"You remember 'Secret Window, Secret Garden'?"

"What?" she asked.

"You know, the story about the woman with the garden and the husband buries her there after he kills her?"

"Not one of my favorites," she admitted.

"Thanks, Cho."

"Well it was kinda hostile, don't you think?"

"Boy do I miss your constructive criticism."

"So what about it?" she asked, a little annoyed.

"Do you think anyone was inspired by it?"

"You mean besides that nutcase of a fan that got locked away that one time?"

"That was over a different story, Cho, and yes."

"None that I can think of. Why?"

"Never mind," he muttered, deciding it wouldn't be a good idea to tell her about Shooter.

"C'mon, tell me," she persisted.

"No, just drop it. Please, drop it."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just asking. Will you please just drop it?"

"Fine," she muttered.

"So how's Malfoy?" There was a groan on the other end and he smirked.

"He's fine," she said.

"I was just wondering if he'd like to get together, get a bite to eat? I mean we have a lot in common, Malfoy and I. We've both been around the same block." Cho sighed on the other end, and he knew she was rolling her eyes.

"We're not together, Harry."

Harry's heart stopped for a moment and he grinned. "Well, I'd be lying then if I told you I wasn't about to break into song and dance."

"I meant we're not together at the moment. He's coming by a little later. We're going out to dinner." Harry's grin vanished.

"Figures," he muttered. "I gotta go."

"Harry, please don't hang up," she begged.

"Don't want to keep you from your date. Bye." He hung up with that and sat back, grumbling.

"Damn mosquitoes," growled Harry as he walked down the trail behind his house. There was nothing good to write about so he decided a good walk would clear his head for a while. Other than the mosquitoes, it was nice out, and he decided he'd take his time getting back. Chico would have to forgive him.

He was almost a full mile away from the house when he stopped dead in his tracks, spotting a familiar car parked off to the side and an unfriendly face leaned against the door.

"Shooter," Harry acknowledged.

"Story sound ring a bell, Potter?"

"Oh, it most certainly did," he said softly. "When did you write it?"

"I figured you'd ask. After all, when two writers show up with the same story, the one who had their's written the earliest is the innocent one. I guess that's why I came up here from Mississippi."

"When did you write it?" repeated Harry.

"I wrote it in 1997," said Shooter with a smirk. "Are you ready to turn yourself in for plagiarism or will I have to beg?"

"Drop it," spat Harry, walking past him. Shooter looked at him confused.

"Drop it? What the hell do you mean drop it?"

"I said drop it. You wrote yours in '97? Well, I wrote mine in late '94. It was published in a magazine in '95 before it was in my book. Sorry, Mr. Shooter, but I beat you by two years, so if anyone's going to bitch about plagiarism, it's gonna be me." Shooter gritted his teeth and grabbed him, pinning him to the car. His grip was terribly tight and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he broke the bones.

"You lie!" he snarled.

"No I don't!" shouted Harry, pushing him back. "Go check it out for yourself. Ellory Queen's Mystery Magazine, June 1995."

"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"That's not my problem, Shooter."

"Do I have to drive up to your house in London and ask your wife, Cho, for it?" Harry stared at him, his blood running cold. This nut knew where Cho lived? "I read it on your book jacket," he said with a smirk.

"That's Cho's house," said Harry.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"What do you think it means, you ignorant hick?" snarled Harry. "I'm in the middle of a divorce. D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Divorce!"

"Sorry to hear about that," he said, but in a tone that let Harry know he didn't mean it. He turned to his car and reached for something through the open window. Harry was on his toes and backed up cautiously. "Hold your water, Potter. I'm just grabbing my smokes." He pulled out a pack of Pall Mall and pulled out a cigarette, then holding the pack out to Harry.

"I don't smoke," he said in an innocent tone.

"You have three days to get a copy of that magazine, if there is such a magazine, and prove to me it's your story." There was a truck driving down the road and the driver honked, waving at Harry. Shooter waved back and turned back to Harry.

"If I show you the magazine, will you then leave me alone and go back to Mississippi?" asked Harry. Shooter nodded and got into his car.

"Three days," he said, and with that, he drove off, leaving Harry to stare.


	4. This is not my beautiful wife

When Harry got home, Chico was begging for his dinner, and he fed him, scratching him behind the ears and telling him what happened. After being alone for so long, he was willing to talk to anyone, even the dog.

"Guess I'd better call Cho," he muttered. He got down on the ground and laid on his back, Chico sniffing his face before licking him. Harry flinched and pushed the dog's face away from his mouth. "I don't wanna call her," he said in a whiny tone. "I wanna take a nap." Chico licked his cheek and Harry snickered. "Okay, I'll call her, write some crap for an hour, and then I'll take a nap." Chico barked and walked over to the dog door. "Chico?" called Harry. Chico turned and looked at him. Harry placed his hand under his chin, gently bumping it up and down so his voice went shaky. "Chico-o-o-o-o. Don't be discoura-a-a-a-aged." Chico barked again and headed out the door. Harry realized how sad it was, what he did for entertainment and stood up. "Don't be discouraged you little bastard," he muttered, laying down on the sofa. His eyes started to close when he spotted the phone. If Cho called while he was asleep he'd be grumpy. Standing up, he walked over and unplugged the phone, and then turned back to the sofa, laying down and falling asleep.

In his dream, he was sleeping on his sofa, but when he opened his eyes, he was hovering over a cliff with a lake underneath. He lost his balance and toppled over, landing on the living room floor as he woke up.

Harry rubbed his head, grumbling to himself and stood up, realizing it was dark out. His nap had gone on a little longer than he had hoped for, but he didn't care. It wasn't as though he had plans to see anybody. He walked over to the fridge and started looking for something to eat when he heard a rustle near his window. He stood perfectly still and waited till he heard it again. It wasn't Chico because he knew better than to jump on anything outside.

Standing to his full height slowly, the only explanation that came to mind made him shudder. Shooter. What the hell was the bastard doing in there, he wondered. He turned and looked out the window, spotting what was making the rustling sound. There was a sheet of paper taped to the wall outside, and the breeze was making it fly up and down, brushing against the wall.

Harry's brow furrowed. He closed the door to the fridge and stepped outside with a flashlight. When he opened the door, he found the outside light had been smashed, and wondered how he slept through that. The note was still hanging from the wall, and he walked over to it, reading it.

You have three days. This is no joke.

NO police.

Below it, a tarp was covering a lump, and Harry starred at it for a moment. He didn't remember leaving anything there. Reaching cautiously he pulled it back, jumping as blood splattered from it. Chico lay on top of a crate with a screwdriver rammed through his neck. His mouth was wide open in a silent bark, and his eyes were wide open. The blood was still warm and flowing around the screwdriver. Shooter had been there, not too long ago.

Harry felt his stomach turn and he looked away for a moment to compose himself a little. "SHOOTER!!!" he shouted angrily. "I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS! YOU HEAR ME?!! I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!!!"

Picking up his dog in his arms, he walked over to a place to bury him. Chico was the only life he had near him, besides the maid he loathed. Shooter had just killed his only companion, and now he was alone. What the hell was wrong with this man? Chico was all Harry had left to keep him company in his lonely home. Now what?

He buried his dog, moving slowly and mournfully. Once he was done, he'd go strait to the sheriff and report this. If Shooter felt no remorse in killing an animal that couldn't fend for itself, he'd just as easily kill a man. The dirt was piled in place, and Harry stared at his dog's grave for a little longer, wondering if he had suffered long once Shooter had gotten him. Few people knew it, but Chico was almost completely blind. He probably never saw Shooter coming, literally.

"Sorry boy," he muttered, and then turned back to the house, going inside for the rest of the night, but barely sleeping through it.

"Chico?" asked the old sheriff in shock. "Why would anyone want to kill Chico?"

"That's why I came to you," said Harry. They were both walking into his office where a teen sat behind her desk, talking on the phone to God only knew who. "He left this on my wall, right above Chico." The sheriff took the note from Harry's hand and read it.

"You have three days. This is not a joke. No police?" He chuckled and gave the note back to Harry. "When someone takes the time to write down, 'No police', that's about the time when a person should go to the police."

"I know," said Harry as he sat down. "I just wanted to know if you could find this guy for me so I know who I'm dealing with."

The sheriff looked at him. "Do I look that intimidating to you?" he asked.

"I've got a full description of the man, and his license plate number written down somewhere in my house. I think it started with an 'A'."

"So, you've got yourself an member of the loony tribe," said the sheriff.

"Uh, yes," said Harry. "They show up every once in a while. Guess it's the price for writting a few books." The teen girl started laughing hysterically from behind her desk, and Harry looked at her.

"Sorry," she said, smirking. Harry smirked back but secretly thought she didn't look any more sane than Shooter.

"I don't really know if you can press charges on this guy," said the sheriff.

"What about trespassing? What about animal endangerment? What about destruction of private property?"

"The last one perhaps," he muttered. "Okay," he said, pulling out a note pad and pen. "First, I'll need a description."

"Killed Chico, are you serious?" asked Lance. Lance was an overweight black man who had been a cop for a long time, and recently retired from the force to start his own company, working as Harry's personal body guard sometimes whenever a nutcase fan turned up.

"Yes," said Harry. "Bastard killed my dog."

"So did you steal the story?" Harry turned to him, slightly appalled.

"What? Hell no!" he said firmly.

"Sort of an amazing coincidence, don't you think? The stories being so much alike?" He seemed to be hinting to something and Harry sneered.

"I did not steal his story, and would you like to pick a side before we continue?"

"Sorry," said Lance. "I just want to know what we're dealing with. Is it another crazy nut like what we've had before, in which case I can help you? Or is this something you should be going to your lawyer about?"

"This guy is just simply out of his mind," said Harry, taking a seat across from Lance's desk. "I was wondering if you could help me again like you did before."

"That," said Lance. "Was a cracked man who couldn't tell the difference between life and the crap you write for a living, no offense." Harry smirked. Lance had never been much of a reader.

"I want you to be there with me when I give him the magazine," said Harry.

"Damn right I'm gonna be there," said Lance. "I don't know what else I can do from there until I've actually met the guy. But for now, I think I can spare you a couple of minutes."

"He said-" Click! Lance pushed the 'on' button on his timer and Harry raised an eyebrow, shrugged and continued. "...that he knows where Cho lives and he was going to go there to get it if I didn't, or something like that. I want to make sure she stays safe from this nut."

"Aren't you married to Cho?"

"We separated six months ago," said Harry glumly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Lance. "What happened? You finally nail one of your groupies on one of your book tours?" He chuckled, but Harry didn't find it amusing. He reached over and turned off the timer, giving Lance a nasty look. "That was a shitty thing to say," muttered Lance. "I'm sorry." He turned the timer back on. "You were saying?

"I just want to make sure this guy doesn't try to kill either of us in our sleep. And I want to know who he is and what he's got against me, besides the story."

"Has he threatened you yet?" he asked. Harry looked at him.

"He put a screwdriver through my dog, Lance."

"I'll see what I can do," said Lance. "Now, when you pull in to your house tonight you'll see a black Cadillac in the driveway. Don't panic, it's just me keeping an eye on the place. You do remember my rates, right?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But you're the only man I'd trust for something like this." Lance smirked.

"Glad to hear it." Harry stood up, picking up his jacket and heading for the door. "Have a good day, Harry." Harry waved over his shoulder and left, climbing into his car.

There was one last place he wanted to go to before he went home. Cho's house. If she was alone, he'd ask her for the magazine. If not, he'd leave like he had never been there in the first place. If Malfoy was there, it'd take great restraint not to lash out against him.

When he pulled into the drive way of a house, across the street from Cho's, he saw two cars in the driveway and forwned. Cho and Malfoy had just stepped out and were laughing as they stepped into his car, driving away for a date.

"This is not my beautiful house," Harry muttered to himself. His eyes strayed to Cho before they drove off. "This is not my beautiful wife... anymore."

(A/N: Hola chicos i chicas! I forgot to post this up this morning, my bad. So here it is and I hope you liked it.

Random Words of Wisdom:

Don't hit an old man with glasses. Hit him with a baseball bat.


	5. No Monsters?

It was almost Ten when Harry finally got home. He had stopped for dinner at a local diner, and spent more time sitting there and moping than he had meant to. The black Cadillac was parked in the driveway, and he could see Lane's broad shoulders hanging over the seat. Harry climbed out of his car and walked over slowly, realizing Lance was laying there with his head rested against the window, not moving. His heart started pounding, and he tapped the window lightly. Lance snapped awake with a small cry, and Harry jumped, spinning around and looked back at Lance, both of them laughing at each other.

"Sorry, 'bout that, man," said Lance as he got out of his car.

"Scared the shit out of me," muttered Harry.

"Guess this last weekend has finally caught up with me," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, that's very reassuring," chuckled Harry.

"Don't worry, I was only out for ten minutes I swear. I've already looked inside. There's nothing there, you're safe."

"Yeah, but a lot can happen in ten minutes," said Harry. Lance chuckled and agreed to search the house one last time with him. He came down the stairs a few minutes later. "No monsters up there," he said with a smirk. Harry walked out from the kitchen with a paddle in his hand.

"Did you check under my bed?" he asked.

"Of coarse I did," laughed Lance. He looked at the paddle and took it away from Harry. "What are you going to do with that, sailor?" He chuckled and placed it against the wall.

"Are you staying here all night?"

"No. Not unless you want me to."

Yes, thought Harry, but he sighed. He wasn't a kid anymore. He had to fend for himself. "No. I was just wondering. Staying in town?"

"Yeah, in a Motel about two miles away, across from a Hess station. You know the place?"

He briefly remembered sitting in the parking lot six months ago, debating whether or not he'd go in...

"I know it," he said softly.

"Hey, is there anyone else who's seen you with Shooter?"

"Tom Greenleaf," said Harry. "He drove by yesterday and waved at us. He must've gotten a good look at him."

"Where can I find him?"

"Devan's convenience store and diner. He has breakfast there every day at nine."

"Okay, I'm on it. And listen, once I find this John Shooter, I'm gonna talk to him and use the word 'we' a lot. 'We know what you're doing, We want it to stop, We're watching you.' Trust me, he'll hit the road so hard it'll hit back." Harry didn't feel reassured, but nodded.

"Okay," he said with a smirk. "See you tomorrow then."

"Take care of yourself," said Lance, and with that he left out the door.

Harry stared out the window as Lance got into his car. It was quiet, and he felt fine, until there came a thump from the upstairs. He jumped and turned around.

"Hello?"

There was another thump, and he looked back out the window. Lance was pulling out and driving away.

"Shit," growled Harry. He looked back up at the stairs and heard the thump again. Someone was moving around up there. Grabbing the poker from the fireplace, he headed up the steps nervously. His grip on the poker grew tighter as he got closer, and soon he could only hear the pounding of his own heart. If Shooter was there, there was no question in his mind he'd be killed. But not without a struggle at least.

Extending the poker, he carefully pulled the door open with it and looked in his bedroom. There was nothing there, but he could feel someone there. His hand felt around for the light switch and he flipped it on, holding up the poker, ready to fight.

"Hello?" he called. No answer. Figures. Only an idiot would answer back. He took a few steps into his room when he hear the shuffling of feet in the bathroom, and held his poker up again. He slid to the side until he could see the mirror in the bathroom. There was a shoulder and half an arm reflecting off of it, and he bit his lip. "I know you're in there shithead!" he called. "I'm gonna count to five, and then I'm gonna start swinging." He closed his eyes and opened them again as he gathered his courage. "One... two..." He ran in with a shout and slammed the poker at the first thing that came at him. The mirror shattered and peices fell all over the floor. There was no one in there. He turned the lights on and looked at the mirror. "I killed the mirror," he muttered to himself. There was a scratching noise from inside the shower, and he jumped around, slamming the poker several times into the shower door, stopping when he realized no one was there either. Instead, he looked in and saw a mouse, scuttling around in there nervously. "And the shower door," he muttered. He turned around a grabbed a wash rag from the counter top, then opened the door to the shower, grabbing the mouse in there and headed outside with it to set it free.

As he passed his desk, he picked up the pack of cigarettes and stared at it. There was only one left, and he didn't want to waist it. He placed it back on the desk and started down the stairs again, changed his mind at the last minute and ran back, grabbing the last cigarette and his lighter.

"I'll just smoke it," he muttered to himself. "Buy myself a new pack and smoke the shit out of that one." He released the mouse near Chico's grave. The shovel was still sticking up from the ground, and he squatted down, lighting his cigarette.

"Thought you said you didn't smoke," said a voice behind him. Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

"I took it up recently for my health," he grunted. "What do you want, Shooter?"

"I think we both know what I want. You to turn yourself in now and get it over with."

"Not on your life," said Harry. "I'm gonna get that magazine and you are gonna get the hell away from me."

He stood up and Shooter smirked. "There isn't any magazine, is there, Potter."

Harry backed up and grabbed the handle of the shovel behind his back to Shooter wouldn't see.

"Well then," he muttered. "Let's see what we can do to make you feel better." Shooter started to circle him, and Harry let go of the shovel handle.

"Sounded like you were throwing a fit up there," he said with a smirk. "I think your nervous. Stealing someone else's story, now that doesn't seem to bother you. But getting caught for it, now that's something you weren't ready for. But that's not entirely what I come here for."

"What do you want then?" asked Harry, feeling confused again.

"I want you to fix it," said Shooter. "The ending. I don't know what is worse. Stealing my story or ruining the ending."

"I don't think I read the ending, Shooter."

"Oh, I think you did. '"I can do it," Todd Levey said, helping himself to another ear of corn from the steaming bowl. "I'm sure in time her death will become a mystery, even to me." That's how the story ends, it's the only ending. You're gonna write it for me and then you're gonna publish it with my name on it."

"I'd be more than happy to write your ending, Mr. Shooter," said Harry. Shooter stared at him suspciously and started pacing again.

"Saw your wife today when you were there. She's perty." Harry felt the color drain from his face.

"Let's leave Cho out of this," he said softly.

"I'd like to, Mr. Potter, but I'm beginning to think you're not going to leave me that option."

Harry snapped and grabbed the shovel behind him, charging at Shooter with full speed. Shooter was too fast and too strong. He grabbed the shovel handle and pinned Harry to the tree with it. "One night you're gonna drop by and find her nailed to the garbage can, or turn on the radio one morning and hear how she came in second in a battle with the chainsaw you keep in the shed."

"Leave her alone!" he spat. Shooter let go of him and walked away.

"Two more days, Mr. Potter, to prove yourself. Remember, no police." He left and Harry staggered back into the house.

He lay wide away in bed for hours before he could finally even doze. Too many disturbing images were in his head, and they refused to leave.

Harry sat on his sofa, eating a bag of Doritos and thinking again about a new storyline. His writing was the only thing he had available that would help him not think about what Shooter had said to him. Ever since the bastard set foot on his doorstep, he'd been unable to concentrate on anything, and every night it became harder and harder to fall asleep. Lance was the only person he knew he could count on if Shooter tried to lay a finger on him or Cho. He decided he'd call him and tell him about what had happened, just to settle his mind a little.

Standing up, he walked to the phone and plugged the line back in and sat down, trying to remember the number.

Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing!

Harry stared at the phone for a minute. If that's Shooter, I swear to God I'll...

He sighed and answered the phone.

"Is that you, John Wayne?" he asked.

"Harry?" asked a voice. It was Cho's. "Harry? Harry are you there?" She was shouting and sounded frantic.

"Yes, Cho, I'm here," he half yelled. "Just lower your voice a little."

"Harry, I've been trying to call you all night but the line was down."

"I was asleep," said Harry. "Why? What do you want?"

"Someone burned down our house," she said, breaking into sobs. Harry sat there for a minute, trying to absorb what she said.

"What?!" he cried.

"SOMEONE BURNED DOWN OUR HOUSE!!!" screamed Cho as she continued to sob.

(A/N: The stupid school filter blocked off all email sites, so now I won't be able to tell whether or not I'm getting reviews that way. I hate Bess the filter dog! Anyway, please review! I can still check on this account.)


	6. Rubber Necker

Harry stood, staring at the rubble that so many firemen were walking around, checking for any sparks still lit. His stomach had his the concrete sidewalk below him, and he stare at it, fighting off tears. There was no question in his mind who would have had the nerve to have done this. The house was pretty much gone, except for one wall that stood, extremely charred. The front door lay flat on the ground, black and ready to fall to peices. He highly doubted anything survived the fire.

Glancing at the door he remembered the first month he and Cho had lived there, back when she had loved him. He could see a memory play out in front of him. The house was standing, untouched and looking new, and Cho was headed to her car. He was walking out the door in a bathrobe with shaving cream on his face, a razor clutched in his hand. "Excuse me, Miss?" he called to her. She started laughing as she got to her car.

"Harry, I have to go to work," she said with a smile.

"I saw that you only left $100 on my dresser," he said. She started laughing. "I don't know what the maid told you, but I'm $300."

"Harry!" she laughed.

"You know, some men are $100, some are $50. I'm $300."

"Harry, I've got to go." He smiled and walked up to her.

"There's something on your mouth," he said softly. He kissed her and stepped back. "Mmm... bacon." Cho giggled and climbed into her car. "Bye," he called and she pulled out and drove away.

Harry closed his eyes and turned around when he heard someone call his name. The house was still the world's largest pile of ashes, and Cho was standing there, her wedding ring gone, and never coming back. He sighed. Would he ever be able to let her go?

"Harry," she said softly as she stepped up to him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she gave him a hug. He sighed, but hugged her back, a little happy that it made Malfoy uneasy. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked her.

"Yeah. Luckily I wasn't home when it happened." He frowned. He knew whose house she had been in then. "Harry, they think the fire started in your office. Your work is gone. All of it was destroyed." His heart froze. The magazine.

"I'm sorry too," said Malfoy as he stepped up, though his tone was far from friendly. Harry sneered and turned away.

"Thankyou, Malfoy," he spat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter?" called the fire sargent.

"Yes?" all three of them answered. Take a hike, Malfoy, thought Harry to himself. They all walked up to him, and he held out a charred glass bottle.

"You've definently been victims of arson," he said.

"We're Mr. and Mrs. Potter," said Harry, gesturing to himself and Cho.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," said Malfoy.

"Sorry about your loss you guys," said the sargent. Their lawyer stepped up and shook hands with Harry and Cho, ignoring Malfoy completely, much to Harry's amusement.

"Let's go to my office to talk. Some items were recovered and we need to settle who gets what. First thing I gotta ask you, enemies. You got any?"

"No," said Cho.

"Not a soul," said Malfoy. Harry looked at him, slightly annoyed. Did he have a reason to be there anyway?

"Do mind if I answer a few of these, Malfoy?" he asked, seeming agitated. Malfoy raised two hands up in surrender and stepped back. Cho gave him a nasty look, but he ignored her as he stepped up to their lawyer.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I have an enemy." Cho looked at him in shock, cleary upset that he hadn't told her this.

"We've just gotten the list of things recovered from the site," said their lawyer as she sat down. "Oh," she muttered to herself. "I broke my own rule. I don't like to call it 'the site'. It wasn't a site, it was a house, your house. Anyway, whatever was left needs to go to whoever gets it. This is the list of everything destroyed. I heard there was a seperation of ownership some months ago, so that will be important for the insurace agency."

"We're going through a divorce," said Harry. The lawyer nodded.

"I've been down that road before," she said to him. "It sucks." Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"We're still waiting for the papers to be signed by both parties," said Cho, glancing at Harry.

"Well," she said passing a sheet to them. "Here's the list of things for you to look over." Harry and Cho both leaned in, and Malfoy tried to look from where he was sitting. Cho noticed and slid the sheet a few inches in his dirrection. Malfoy leaned in closer, and Harry looked up, pulling the sheet away from him.

"Excuse me," he said, now irritated with him. "Do you really intend to rubberneck?"

"I wasn't rubbernecking," said Malfoy, making a face.

"Cho, he's rubbernecking," he said, turning to Cho.

"I hardly believe it's rubbernecking when I'm concerned for her," said Malfoy.

They both started argueing, and Cho turned to Malfoy, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He's right," she said softly. "He's right."

"He is right," said the lawyer. "According to the law, you have no business looking at this list. Now, normally I'd let it go, but it seems that Mr. Potter minds."

"Yes," said Harry. "Mr. Potter does mind a lot." Malfoy sighed and stood up.

"I'm going to get a cappuccino from Starbucks," he said, kissing Cho on the forehead and walking to the door.

"Ah, c'mon, Malfoy," said Harry. "Be a man, take two." Malfoy rolled his eyes and started out the door again. "Rubbernecker," said Harry again. Malfoy continued out, and the lawyer smirked.

Harry and Cho stepped out of the elevator about a half hour later and Harry started for the door. He didn't want to be there when Malfoy got back.

"Harry, wait," said Cho. "This Shooter guy, is he like the one we had before?"

"We?" asked Harry.

"I know you hate it when I mention that guy, but is Shooter anything like him?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. "Don't worry about me. You seem to think I do so fine alone. Why change your mind now?" Cho snarled and started to walk away.

"Cho," he called. She turned, giving him a dirty look.

"What?"

"You and me, we're the only ones who know about Shooter, right?"

"Other than our lawyer, I guess," she said softly.

"Because you haven't told Malfoy yet," said Harry.

"No," said Cho.

"Don't," he said. "Don't you even get him involved with this." As if on cue, Malfoy walked in with two cappuccinoes, one for him and one for Cho. Harry smirked at him. "Sorry you had to miss that, Malfoy," he said with a grin. "I know how much you love my stuff."

"Oh, God," growled Cho.

"I wanna talk to you," he said, handing Cho her cappuccino. Harry turned to her.

"I'm in trouble," he said, and then left with Malfoy. They started down the sidewalk, and Malfoy grabbed him by the arm.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You're a dick!" spat Harry. They stared at each other for a minute.

"Do you feel better?" asked Malfoy.

"Yes, I do in fact," said Harry as he started to walk down the sidewalk again, Malfoy following him.

"Look, I never recked your marriage," he said softly. "It was pretty much over by the time I got there."

"Oh, and I guess her wedding band didn't look suspicious to you?" asked Harry.

"Look, I already apologized to you before, but I won't let you continue to treat Cho like shit and drive her mad. I know you don't want me in your life. Well guess what, I don't want you in mine either, but until this thing is over we don't have a choice. Not until you finally sign your papers." A bus whizzed by, making Harry jump. "Are we getting the message I'm sending here?"

"Where we from, Draky?" he asked.

"Same place you are, Harry." He turned and started to head back to the building.

"I was thinking more around Mississippi," called Harry. Malfoy turned.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Long way from there. A little place called Shooter's Bay."

Harry stared at him was he walked away, feeling his blood run cold.


	7. Meeting at Devon's

"C'mon, Lance," growled Harry from his car. It was late and he had just pulled in, only to find Lance wasn't there. "For $500 an hour, where are you when I need you?" He sighed and drove up to his front door, cursing when he heard the phone start to ring inside. He ran, unlocking the door as fast as he could and hurried in, answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Potter, where were you today?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing, Lance."

"I waited for as long as I could. Everything's secure."

"Well, that's good," he said, walking over to his sofa and sitting down.

"I heard about your loss today. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"By the way, I met with your friend, Tom Greenleaf. He's a weird character." Harry chuckled and sat back.

"Really?" he laughed.

"Yeah. First he tells me he did see you there, but then he gets all weird and says that no, he didn't see you, wasn't even driving down that road."

"Well, Tom's old. His memory had a tendancy to fade in and out."

"He was scared shitless," said Lance. "Tomorrow we should both meet with him to try and convince him what kind of a situation this is."

"9:00 at Devan's then."

"9:00. Harry, I've changed by opinion on this Shooter fella. I don't think he's just some other wacko like before. You need to consider the thought that maybe someone's put Shooter up to this. Someone with a grudge against you who wants to intimidate you, just to scare you a little. But now things have gone out of control. Dog's are dying, and houses are burning. Now he has no way of stopping Shooter." Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

"Malfoy," he muttered.

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy. Cho's Malfoy. The one she left me for."

"Did you make him angry?"

Harry briefly remembered Malfoy cussing him out the night he barged in on him and Cho.

"I might have," he muttered.

"See what you can find out about that. In the mean time watch yourself. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually. The fire in our house was started in my office. The magazine is gone. I need a new copy."

"I've already taken care of it," he said. "I got ahold of the publisher for that magazine and got them to UPS a copy of it to you. You can pick it up tomorrow at the post office."

"Thanks a lot. You will be there when we show it to him tomorrow then, right?"

"Most definently. Get some sleep, man. You sound tired."

"It's been a long day. See you at 9:00 tomorrow."

"Alright. Bye." Click!

Harry woke the next day with a mirgrane the size of a football stadium. His vision was a little blurry, and he lay still till it came back in full. Yawning, he stretched his arm out and looked at his watch. 8:58am.

"Shit!" he hissed as he jumped up to his feet. The suddenly blood rush made him dizzy and he staggered around, finding a clean shirt and his beanie to hide his morning hair. When he turned back to the front door, there was four little hooks on the wall next to it, each of them holding keys, except for one. His car keys were missing, and he felt around in his pockets. They weren't there, and he rushed out the door, finding someone had been in his car. The driver's door was wide open, and the headlights were blinking. He stepped foreward towards the car, but felt his foot brush against something. His eyes shot down to the ground and he found a familiar hat laying there.

"Shooter," he growled. He went back into the house and came out with a garbage bag, carefully picking it up so his skin never touched it, and let it fall in the bag. After tying a knot to seal it, he ran to the car, climbing into the driver's seat. Reaching hesitantly, he turned the key and the car turned off. Nothing happened. No bombs went off, no one jumped at him. Shooter had just stolen his car for a joy ride. His cigarette stampings were all over the dash. "Bastard," he muttered and tossed the hat in the passenger seat before he drove off.

The door in Devon's slammed behind him, causing four groggy customers to look up from their seats. "Sorry," he muttered. He frowned. Neither Lance nor Tom were there. Did they leave that fast? It only took him five minutes to drive there. He shrugged and walked over to the counter and sat down.

"Did two men come in here looking for me?" he asked the waitress.

"Nope," she said softly.

"One of them was a black, sort of New York cop type?"

"Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

"I over slept," he said with a yawn.

"Maybe they did too, cuz they were never here." He stood up and nodded.

"Thanks," he said. If Tom Greenleaf and the other man show up, could you tell them I've gone home?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Potter."

"Great. Bye." He walked out the door and got in the car, driving home.

Harry was passing by a gas station when he spotted Malfoy standing there, pumping gas into his car. What the hell was he doing out here? There was only one logical reason, and Harry turned the car around, heading there, ready to tell Malfoy how it was.

"I was just headed over to your place," said Malfoy as Harry approached him.

"Really? You know how much I enjoy our visits," said Harry with a sneer. Malfoy didn't retort.

"Listen, a lot of bad things have happened, some of them being my fault." He stopped and shook his head. "Alright, most of them being my fault. But I think you and I both know what needs to be done."

"Really? What's that?" Malfoy reached into the car and pulled out a clipboard with a familiar paper on top.

"You need to sign your papers, Potter." Harry looked at him in absolute loathing.

"That's why you came all the way up here? You should've just gone to my lawyer."

"I did, but she told me to go to you. Just sign them so we can get out of each other's lives."

"I burried my dog, Malfoy," said Harry angrily. Malfoy gave him a surprised look. "This has gone out of your hands. You know it, and I know it. I don't respond to intimidation very well. Makes me feel icky. Now, call off your goon and I'll sign the papers, asshole!" He pushed Malfoy, and Malfoy took a swing at him, slamming his fist into his dent resistent car door.

"Ack!" he shouted, holding his hand close to his chest as Harry walked off, getting into his car a driving away.


	8. Screwdriver

As he stepped inside his house, he took out the hat and tossed it on the coffee table, right on top of the phone. Stretching and yawning again, he headed for the kitchen when the phone started ringing again. He stopped and turned around and looked at it with Shooter's hat on top of it. It was like the phone's morbid way of telling him who was on the other line, and when he answered, he was right.

"Hello?"

"Meet my by the river where we've met before in a half hour," said Shooter.

"And if I don't?" he asked.

"Anyone you've talked to between then and now is your responsibility." And he hung up. Harry's eyes widened. He wouldn't...

Grabbing his jacket, he ran out of the house, deciding not to take his car. He needed the exercise. Running down the same path, he hurried past the trees and bushes, trampling down the grass underneath him as he moved. When he got there, he found Tom Greenleaf's pick-up truck parked there. Shooter was nowhere in sight. Looking at the truck gave Harry an uneasy feeling, and he moved ever so carefully to it. Tom was sitting behind the wheel, not moving, not blinking. Just staring into thin air.

"Tom?" he called softly. "Tom?"

Tom did not respond, and Harry walked over, looking into the window carefully. There was blood flowing down Tom's right side, and when he leaned to the side, he briefly saw the red handle of a screwdriver protruding from his head.

Harry started gagging and backed up, seeing the blood on the rearveiw mirror and the side mirror, and a bloody axe, laying on the passanger's seat. He looked in the back and saw Lance, his head tilted all the way back, and his neck and throat completely torn up, mostlikely from that axe. Both were dead, and Harry was ready to vomit. Everything around him went silent, except for the squeaking of a squirrel in a tree right behind him. He turned and stared at that squirrel, and it was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

"'bout time you woke up, pilgrim," said a hated voice. Harry jumped awake. Shooter was there, and mostlikely ready to kill him too. Moving as quick as he could, he launched foreward, attempting to run, but tripped on his right leg which was stubbornly asleep. "You were out for three solid hours." Harry continued staggering away, tripping and falling several times. He was gradually regaining the feeling in his leg, but his mind and heart were racing at unnatural speeds. "Your leg's asleep. You were laying on it."

"Leave me alone!" shouted Harry.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I've got you tied to those bodies in more ways than you know. Who's screwdriver do you think is in that man's head?" Harry stopped and managed to stand on his feet, and turned to Shooter.

"What do you want?!!!" he shouted.

"You already know that, pilgrim. I want you to turn yourself in."

"I have the magazine!" screamed Harry. "I HAVE the magazine! I HAVE THE GODDAMN MAGAZINE!!!" Shooter looked at him.

"There can't be any magazine," he said, seeming worried. "Not with that story in it, MY story in it." Harry spat at him, and Shooter stared at him. "You have the magazine?"

"With me? No. I was going to pick it up later."

"Bring it then, and be back at your house in two hours. If you talk to that sheriff again, or if you don't show up with the magazine, I will burn you and everyone you know like a cane field in a high wind."

"If I show it to you, will you go away and never come back?" demanded Harry.

"Yes," said Shooter. "I'll turn myself in, after taking care of myself of coarse. Cuz if there really is such a magazine then I'm crazy, and Mr. Potter, that kind of crazy ain't got no bussiness staying alive." He turned and started to walk off, but stopped and turned back to Harry. "You've got my hat. I want it back, one way or another," and with that he left.

Harry walked back over to the car and stared in through the passanger window at Tom. That was his screwdriver, and if it stayed there, he'd be framed for murder. "Oh man!" he muttered and opened the passenger door, climbing into the seat. He felt the cold axe underneath him, and quickly brushed it onto the floor. His stomach was turning again as he stared at the screwdriver. He started to reach for it, but then pulled back, gagging. "Geez!" he muttered. He reached again, but something shifted in the back, and he jerked around to see Lance's body fall to the side a little. Lace was still dead, and so was Tom. Neither were going to reach out an grab him. Closing his eyes and looking away, he carefully grabbed the handle and pulled the screwdriver out.

Once it was out, he jumped out, grabbing the axe as well, and looked at the lake. The truck was parked right near the edge of a cliff that hung over it. He hated the idea, but it was better than leaving them there for someone else to find. Walking over to the driver's side, he turned the key, which was still in the ignition, and started walking to the cliff edge, working the stick shift as he moved. Gradually the car picked up speed, and hit a rock a little too hard, causing Tom's body to fall foreward, his head resting on the horn. Harry curse and reached in with his other hand, pushing him back. They were close enough to the cliff edge now, and he tried to pull his hand out. To his horror, his watch was caught around the stick shift, and he couldn't pull it free. The cliff edge was coming closer, and he tugged with all his might. The watch broke off, and he jumped away from the car just in time.

He watched as the car drove over the edge and fell into the lake, sinking down to the bottom and out of sight. There was blood on his sleeves, and he made sure he changed his shirt and hid the axe and screwdriver in his house before getting ready to head to the post office.


	9. I Saw What You Did

The phone started ringing just as he was stepping out the door. He glanced at his watch. There was still 45 minutes left. He sighed and ran over, answering the phone.

"What?" he said, making sure the caller knew he was in a hurry.

"Harry?" came a weak voice. It was Cho.

"Cho, what is it? I'm in a hurry."

"Are you okay? I've been so worried about you lately. My feeling's gotten worse."

"I'm fine. Just peachy."

"Harry," she muttered.

"What?"

"Do you think things would've been different if we hadn't lost the baby?" If there was anything that could've made him feel worse, that was it. They had been so excited about having childeren, but when Cho got pregnant, it was a miscarriage.

"Listen, honey, I gotta go. I'm in a rush..." Cho started sobbingand he felt his heart go to her, even though he didn't want it to. He walked over to his cahir and sat down. "Cho, what's wrong?" She continued crying, and Harry sighed. "Cho, calm down. Breathe... breathe..." He waited till her sobs calmed down. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"I miss you," she whispered.

"I miss you too honey, but there's nothing we can do about that now is there?"

"I don't know what to do," she muttered. "Things started happening and our marriage was pretty much over during the last two years."

"Well, if it was over you could've told me cuz it sure as hell was news to me."

"You were never around."

"I worked at home!"

"That's not what I mean! Whenever I looked at you, I saw you looking at me physically, but it was like you had disappeared inside yourself."

"So you ran to Malfoy."

"Malfoy came to me. It was all my fault. He didn't know."

"Cho, when we got married it was in every newspaper around the world. There was no way he didn't know."

"I just wish I could go back and redo it all. I wish it never had happened." Harry gritted his teeth.

"We then I gues you shouldn't have FUCKED HIM THEN!" he shouted angrily and slammed the phone on the reciever.

Cho slammed her phone down and headed to her car.

"You're not going over there," said Malfoy from the relciner. "I saw him today. There's something messed up with him."

"Draco, I was married to him for ten years. I know how to talk to him when he's in one of his moods. I'm going to get him to sign the papers and just get it over with."

Without another word, she climbed into her car and drove out, leaving Malfoy to sit around, feeling uneasy.

"Harry!" called the sheriff as he pulled in to the post office. Harry suddenly remembered what Shooter had said and hurried into the post office, waving over his shoulder.

"I have a package I'm supposed to pick up?" he said as he ran in. The woman behind the desk looked up. She was very pretty and he knew she had a crush on him, especially when she found out about the divorce that was in action.

"Right here," she said, handing him the UPS package. "You know the post office will kill me if they find out I was holding UPS things."

"I understand that, and I appreciate it," he said with a smile.

"You won't tell anyone will you?"

"No," he said, turning to leave.

"Because I saw what you did."

Harry stood still, his heart pounding again. He turned and looked at her.

"What?" he asked.

"I said they'd shoot me if you did," she said softly. Harry nodded, knowing he was loosing his mind.

"Okay. Bye." He hurried out, and the woman checked him out as he left.

"He's sooo cute!" she muttered to herself.

Harry climbed into his car and the sheriff came up to him, looking at him through his window. "Got a minute?" he asked.

"Uh, no, actually. I've got an arrond I have to run, but I'll call you tonight." The sheriff nodded and let him go.


	10. What Is Happening To Me?

Harry stepped on the gas and sped home, not worried about cops. It was a quiet neighbor hood and cops were rarely ever needed. When he got home, he had five minutes to spare. He sat in his parked car and looked at the package. The top had been torn about five inches, and he grew worried. He ripped it open and pulled out the magazine, smiling when he saw it was the right issue. He opened it to the contents and found where his story was supposed to be. Page 84. Flipping through the pages, he came to page 83 and looked on the other side. Page 99. He looked back. 83, 99. The pages had been torn out.

He cut it out, he thought to himself. How did he do that?

"I don't know," he answered himself. "But he did it." He stood up and went into the house. The story title was still in the table of contents which was good enough, so Shooter would just have to accept that.

When he got inside, he sat down on his sofa and stared at Shooter's hat on his table, the one he was coming for. Shrugging, he picked it up and tried it on for the heck of it, then went to the mirror to see how it looked.

Why'd you try it on? his mind asked.

"I don't know," he answered back.

Maybe he wanted you to.

"Why would he want me to try on his hat?" he asked, a little annoyed.

Because maybe he wanted you to...

"Wanted me to what?" he asked, turning to the side, facing himself. There was two of him in the room, him, and then the him in his mind, talking to him.

"To get confused," he answered.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, walking over to the door. The other Harry was leaning against it, cleaning his glassed with his shirt.

"Now wait a second, back up, pilgrim. Think about it."

"About what?" he asked, turning to the sofa, only to find himself sitting there.

"About those deaths, how they were all tied to you, and yet Shooter never set a foot in your house."

"What are you suggesting?" he asked, turning to the stairs.

"What about the stories being so much alike? He'd have to be a mind reader to accomplish that."

"Leave me alone," he muttered to himself.

"How do you even know this Shooter was real?"

"I'm wearing his bruises aren't I? Aren't I?"

"Are you?"

He rolled up his sleeves and looked. The bruises were gone, and there was no sign of them ever being there. "What's going on?"

"Think about it. You were almost a killer once."

He suddenly thought back to when he barged in on Malfoy and Cho. He had brought a handgun with him and even pointed it at them, ready to fire. "The gun was not loaded!" he shouted.

"But you wanted to kill her."

"The gun was not loaded!"

"Now listen to me," said the other him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "This is how it is. There is no Shooter. He was in your imagination."

"Stop it!" he shouted.

"Look, just call a doctor, an tell him to get down here as fast as he can and lock you up in a nut house so you can't hurt anyone else."

"I never killed anyone!"

"Really?"

"Shut up!" He picked up a book from his chair and threw it so hard that when it his the wall, it left a hole. A crack emerged from it and raced up the wall, across the roof and down the other wall. Harry turned back to the mirror and saw himself, but his back was facing him. He stepped closer to it, but saw his reflection walking backwards to him. His migrane was back and he stared at himself helplessly. "What is happening to me?" he muttered.

"I think you know," said a familiar voice behind him. He turned and looked up at John Shooter who was standing on the steps, hands in his pockets casually.

"You don't exist," said Harry, who was starting to understand what was happening.

"Of coarse I do," said Shooter. "I exist because you created me."

Harry had a sudden flash back, back when he and Cho were first married. They were at a garage sale and he was facing an old mirror, wearing Shooter's hat. "Hey look!" he called to Cho. She turned and looked at him, laughing a little. "I'm a dairy farmer from Mississippi," he said in a southern twang.

"I was the side of you that never came out. I did everything you didn't have the nerve to do, Mr. Potter."

He saw himself burning their house to the ground. Then he saw himself in the truck with Tom Greenleaf and Lance, right before he killed them. He saw that as well. All these things came pouring into his head at once and he gave a cry, falling on his knees. He had done all those things, but it wasn't him.

He looked up at Shooter. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Think about it," said Shooter. "I told you before." Harry stood up and Shooter came over to him. "What's the real reason I come here for?" Harry thought about it and suddenly, to his horror, realized something. He was living his own story! Secret Window, Secret Garden, and Sewing Season were about exactly what was happening to him now. All that was left was...

"The ending," he muttered. "You came to fix the ending." Outside he could hear a car pulling into his driveway.

"And how do you suppose we should do that?" asked Shooter. Harry looked out the window and saw the car turn off and Cho climb out of the driver's seat. His eyes strayed to the hat in his hands and he put it on, heading up the stairs silently.

When Cho stepped into the house after knocking and calling for Harry seven times, she was a little shocked with what she found. Everything was torn out of place and thrown all around the house. Chairs were thrown over, papers were scattered all over the floor, and other furnature had been turned over. It looked like someone had broken in. She felt nervous as she stepped in. "Harry?" she called.

There was no answer, and she wandered around nervously, looking for him. She found an issue of Ellory Queen's Mystery Magazine laying on the stairs, and she slowly climbed up them, becoming more and more fearful. "Harry? Are you home?" She walked over to his desk and spotted a manuscript laying there.

Sewing Season

by, John Shooter

"Shooter?" she muttered. She picked up the manuscript to look at it, but found something scratched on the wooden desk under neath.

Shooter Shooter Shooter Shooter

She looked up and spotted the drapes. Shaving cream had been sprayed on them forming one word.

Shooter

She looked down on the coffee table, spotting another word carved into it.

Shooter

Shooter was carved into every wall, and as she turned, reading it across the wall behind her, she saw where it came to a dead stop.

Shoot

Harry's bedroom door was open, and when it closed, a word was carved onto the other side.

Her

Cho gasped, and saw Harry standing there when the door had been pushed shut. He was wearing a black quaker hat, and his face was down, but his eyes were looking up at her, menacingly. She became afraid. Something told her she was not looking at Harry at all.

"There... y-you are," she muttered. "Where... Where'd you get that old thing?"

"It's mine," he said in a southern twang that sounded too real. "Always has been, little missy."

"I was worried..."

"Sure you were now," he said, stepping towards her. Cho stepped to the side and started heading for the stairs. "I been waiting for you to come."

"Why?" she asked, stepping down the stairs. He followed her as she climbed down them backwards, not daring to turn her back to him for a minute.

"For Harry," he said with an evil grin. "Oh I never laid a hand on him, I swear. He took the coward's way out."

"Why are you talking like this?" she asked, trembling now.

"It's just how I talk." She noticed for the first time that he was hiding something behind his back. He saw that she noticed and smiled. "And now, I'm gonna do what he never had the nerve to do." His hand whipped out and a pair of razor sharp scissors were pointed to her. Cho screamed and ran down the steps, but he grabbed her by the hair, cutting a lock off. She tore free and ran out of the house and to her car.

Harry dropped the scissors and walked out after her, knowing she wouldn't get away. Cho put the keys into the ignition, but the emergency brake light turned on, as well as the 'no gas' light. The car wouldn't move, and she looked over, just in time to see Harry take a large rock and smash it through the passanger window. The car suddenly began to roll backwards and out of control, but he still managed to reach in and grab her by the hair and pull her out, tossing her to the ground like a rag doll. He then grabbed her by the jacket and dragged her into the house, screaming all the way.

She was dropped on the living room floor, and he picked up a screw driver from the coffee table, stabbing it into her leg as she tried to crawl away. Cho gave out a scream in pain and kicked him in the face. Harry bent over to spit out a tooth, looking up to see Cho on her feet, blood squirting from her leg, and running to out the back door. She stripped on the wooden steps and fell to the rocky ground, skinning up her knees. There was no escape now, and she lay on her back, watching as Harry picked up a shovel and approached her.

"Sorry things had to go this way, miss," he said, tipping his hat. "But you've left me no choice."

"You are Harry Potter," she wept.

"It'll do him some good to be able to relax for once and not have to think about you."

"You are Harry Potter," she repeated in a weaker tone.

"So good riddance."

"You are Harry Potter," she rasped, barely even audible. He started to raise the shovel, but stopped, hearing a car pulling into the drive way, and stepped off to the side, so Malfoy never saw him when he came running in.

"Cho?" he shouted. Cho started screaming for him to go, but instead he ran to her, recieving a dirrect blow to the face from the shovel. Cho cried out in misery and watched helplessly as Harry stepped up to him and rammed the shovel into his chest like it was a sword. He then turned to her, approaching her with the shovel raised to strike.

""I can do it," Todd Downey said, helping himself to another ear of corn from the steaming bowl," he said, staring at her with a killer's eyes. ""I think that in time her death will be a mystery, even to me...""


	11. epilogue

Harry stood in line at Devan's with a pack of butter and a thing of salt. In front of him was the post office woman, and he leaned over to her, smiling at her to get her attention. "Hi," he said softly. She looked at him with a nervous face and nodded.

"H-hi," she said, turning back to the cashier.

"Braces," he said, pointing to his teeth. "Getting a few things straitened out." She nodded but did not look at him. "You know, I was wondering, if you weren't busy later on..."

"Keep the change," she said to the cashier and hurried out with her things. Harry watched her go, shrugged, and turned back to pay for his things.

The sheriff stepped into Harry's house to find ears of corn almost flooding the kitchen. He seemed to have been growing a lot of it lately, right where he had always talked about planting a garden.

"Mr. Potter?" he called. Harry looked over the banister and smiled. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately too.

"Sir, I didn't here you come in," he said with a smile. "Come on up."

He climbed the steps and faced him, arms folded over his chest. "I'm glad you're here," said Harry, turning from his computer. "I could use the break. Been typing right through lunch. It's crazy."

"Yeah," said the sheriff, though he didn't look to pleased to be there. "Listen, I came here to tell you that I know what you did, and sooner or later we'll have enough evidence to lock you away." Harry nodded, but didn't seem too offended. In fact, he didn't seem to have a clue as to what he was talking about. "In the mean time, we're requesting that you do your shopping somewhere else and stay out of the village. You make the people nervous." Harry nodded.

"Sure," he said. The sheriff nodded and turned to go. "You know," said Harry, making the sheriff turn to listen to him. "The only thing that matters is the ending. That's the most important part of the story, the ending. And this one," he gestured to the screen. "This one is really good." He sat back as the sheriff left, and read it to himself one last time.

"I can do it," Todd Downey said, helping himself to another ear of corn from the steaming bowl. "I think that in time every bit of her will be gone, and her death will become a mystery, even to me..."

Deep underneath the ground, surrounded by roots from cornstalks, two bodies lay forgetten about, rotting away with no one to care. And up in his office, Harry sunk he teeth into another ear of corn.

(A/N: That's it! The End! Disturbing, maybe, but that's right up my alley. Tootles!)


End file.
